


Out of Trouble (Watch for Danger)

by rattatatosk



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Blindness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My, my," a voice purred from the shadows. "You look quite at a loss. What's the matter? The infamous Flynn Rider can't find a way out of trouble this time?"<br/>Flynn froze. He knew that voice, even if he'd only heard it a few times... but that was impossible. </p>
<p>The grin spread across Gothel's face as she stepped out from the shadows of the room, where before there had been no one at all.</p>
<p>"You're dead," he managed to say, and tried to keep from panicking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I originally wrote this in 2011-2012. This is my take on the 'Gothel comes back' trope that was pretty common in Tangled fic of the time on ff.net. Unfortunately, none of the fics I saw seemed to capture the true horror this situation would probably involve, and because I love a good ghost story/dark fic, I wrote my own version. 
> 
> The torture/violence/mindgames in this are more implied than explicit—enough to keep the fic around a PG-13 rating-- but they are mentioned. If you're particularly affected by that kind of thing, heed the tags and maybe skip this one.

_"If you are out of trouble, watch for danger." -Sophocles_

 

When Flynn woke up, he was in a small, dimly lit shack, bound tightly to one of the posts holding the place up.

Truth be told, this was not precisely the first time such a thing had happened to him, but why it had happened now, he couldn't say. He'd been living in the castle for months with almost no mishaps. Granted there had been that one time with the draperies, but overall, things had gone almost freakishly well for a formerly wanted criminal living in a castle among an astonishing number of his former victims.

He shook his head, trying to remember what he'd been doing that might have gotten him into such a state. He'd been playing cards with some of the stablehands, he thought, but surely he hadn't been  _that_ drunk...

Blinking, he looked around. Maybe if he could figure out where he was, he might have a better idea of how he'd got here-- but there were hardly any clues to help him there. The place was almost empty, and what few pieces of furniture remained were covered with a thick layer of dust. There was just the one room cluttered with furniture, and three doors: one that must lead outside, judging by the window next to it, one that probably led to a sleeping chamber, and one that led to... a kitchen, maybe? The roof above was simple thatch, old and half-rotten; patches of dim sunlight flickered across the floor from the holes. The light was thin and grey; it was cloudy outside and the sky promised rain.

He tested his bonds; they were more than tight enough. His fingers were starting to tingle a bit as they threatened to fall asleep on him. There'd be no wriggling out of this one. Maybe if he had a knife-- he usually kept one in his boot, but his captor had taken those as well.

"My, my," a voice purred from the shadows. "You look quite at a loss. What's the matter? The infamous Flynn Rider can't find a way out of trouble this time?"

Flynn froze. He knew that voice, even if he'd only heard it a few times... but that was impossible.

The grin spread across Gothel's face as she stepped out from the shadows of the room, where before there had been no one at all.

"You're dead," he managed to say, and tried to keep from panicking.

"Oh, really?" The grin vanished. "Of course I'm dead. Seventy feet is a long fall. Although it was really you that did for me, wasn't it? You and your mirror shard..." Something flickered in her hands: the shard of mirror, or his knife? He couldn't tell, and it disappeared before he could look closer.

She sauntered towards him, her dress pale and transparent, gleaming silver in the faint sunlight. "You're quite the thief, I suppose I should grant you that," she said. "Four hundred years I guarded that flower, and in a single day you managed to sneak in and take it from me." She stared down at him, measuring him up. "It would seem you even managed to steal your life back from death as well. Very impressive."

He could see the object she was toying with now: a dagger, long and thin. Was it the one from the tower? He'd hardly gotten a good look at it then, and was no more eager to do so now.

"Well," she continued, "you won't worm your way out of punishment this time."

"You know," he said, forcing a chuckle and eyeing the blade nervously, "if we're talking about cheating death, ah ha, how exactly is it you managed that? You, ah, dissolved into dust. I've heard some ghost stories about the dead walking, but it seems like that would be difficult to do if you, well, don't have any legs..."

The smile she gave him was slow and oily. "Idiot thief. I've lived for centuries. Did you think that flower was my only magic? I have studied many dark and subtle arts. Even if I cannot return to true life... this form will serve well enough while I savor my revenge."

He had absolutely no interest in finding out just what this woman had planned for her revenge. Unfortunately, he also could see no immediate way out of this situation. He twisted at the ropes around his wrists again, but if anything, they seemed even tighter than before. How was it a ghost managed to tie such intricate knots? It didn't matter. If he couldn't get away, maybe he could at least keep her talking... get some answers, and if he was very, very lucky, Rapunzel would ride up on Maximus before she could do anything. Or just a passing stranger! Flynn was not going to be picky about who came to save him, just as long as he got far, far away from the crazy ghost with the knife.

"So," he said, falsely chipper as Gothel turned away and began preparing something on one of the broken tables. "Speaking of subtle arts, how is it exactly that you managed to drag me out here? Ghosts are ah, not usually known for their strength in hauling unconscious bodies out to the middle of nowhere. Actually, would it be too much to tell me where we are? You know, always nice to know where you're going to end up, uhh, resting..."

The dagger made a cold, metallic  _shiiiiing_ as she scraped it across the whetstone. Gothel gave him a flat stare with just a hint of a cold smile, and Flynn felt the rest of his ramble die in his throat. 

"Surprised we aren't in that tower, thief? I thought I'd already explained this to you. I've lived a long time. Not all of my old  _haunts_ are still around," she smiled wryly at the word, "but enough remain for me to make good use of them."

She slid the blade across the stone again, and again. He could practically hear it getting sharper. "As for bringing you here... I have plenty of contacts within the kingdom, even in the palace. It was almost pathetically easy to bribe some of the guards to knock you out and bring you here. You may claim to have reformed, but you have few friends in the castle."

The guards. Shit. She was right; no one had ever come out and  _said_ anything, but he could feel the stares, especially at court. The nobles' chilly silence was more piercing than insults. The guards were even worse: while most of the servants seemed friendly enough, he'd long had a feeling that the guards were just  _waiting_ for him to give them an excuse to arrest him. A bribe in the right hands had probably been all they needed.

He'd been gaming in the depths of the castle, nestled in the warren of store rooms and servants' passages. Smuggling him out without anyone noticing wouldn't even have been a challenge.

There was still a chance that Rapunzel would notice, that she'd come looking... but he was probably half a kingdom away from the castle. This place had obviously been abandoned for years, and he could hear the wind hissing through the trees outside. They must be deep in the forest, far away from any prying eyes. Gothel certainly didn't look worried that she'd be interrupted anytime soon.

Flynn swallowed hard. This was not going to be good.

Finished with the whetstone, the ghost of Gothel set it down and began working with some things on the broken table. He craned his neck, trying to see them, but a pillar of solid oak blocked his view. All he had to go on was sounds: there was the soft grind of a mortar and pestle, and the clink of glass.

Gothel was silent, still smiling quietly to herself, and Flynn racked his mind, trying to think of more questions to distract her. But his mind had gone blank: he couldn't think of anything. His mouth was dry, his throat already starting to ache.  _No way out this time_ . He didn't need to hear her say the words. They hung in the air, in the glances she gave him and that slim, toothless smile. 

At last she turned to him. In one hand she held a dagger, either the one from the tower or its twin. In the other was a flask full of some liquid.

"So, Rider. You enjoy gambling, I know. You have a choice: the knife or the potion."

"That's not a choice."

"Of course it is, thief. You have a choice between the game you know..." she twirled the dagger delicately, "...or the one you don't. Which one we play is entirely up to you." She shrugged. "Although I'm sure we'll eventually play whichever one you don't choose. I have nothing but time, after all."

She set both of them down on the floor four or five feet away; in full view but far beyond his reach. "You have one hour," she said, and turned away. After three steps she had disappeared entirely, leaving him alone with the grey light and the weathered stones.

A moment later, the rain began to fall.

  
  


 


	2. Choices

Most of an hour later, he still didn't have an answer.

How the  _hell_ was he supposed to decide this, anyway? Whichever he picked, it wasn't going to be pleasant for him, that much was obvious. The only question was, what would be more bearable until he could somehow manage an amazingly clever escape or be miraculously rescued? 

He had  _no idea_ what that potion would do. It had been brewed by a witch who apparently hated him so much she had actually  _come back from the grave_ to wreak her vengeance upon him. It could do anything, and none of it would be good.

On the other hand, he knew  _exactly_ what the dagger could do. Though he'd never admit it to Rapunzel, he still had nightmares about that day. Sometimes he woke up and he would swear he could still feel the blade inside him, slicing through his ribs and filling his lungs with blood.

He shuddered again just thinking about it.

Flynn had never been much for pain-- either inflicting it or receiving it. That was why most of his plans were the steal-something-and-be-far-away-before-they-notice variety. There was much less mess involved that way. Oh, sure, occasionally things went a bit less than according to plan and there were some scrapes and bruises to be had (and arrows, that one time) but  _mostly_ he got away scott-free and with no bloodshed on  _anyone's_ side. 

Flynn was no good at pain, and he had enough nightmares without adding more of them.

Which meant there was really only one option.

\--/--

Gothel's ghost reappeared a few minutes later. He was paying more attention this time, and it still sent shivers down his spine: one minute there was nothing there but dust and shadows, and the next she was standing in front of him, still wearing that sly smile that promised deceit. Had she been there the entire time? He had no way to know.

"Well, thief? Have you decided? Or will you leave me to decide for you?"

"I've decided," he said, glaring. It wouldn't do him any good, but it helped squash down the naked terror burning through his chest.

"And?"

"The potion."

"Excellent," she said, and the look in her eyes made him immediately wonder if he hadn't chosen wrong after all.

Picking up the dagger, she slid it smoothly back into the sheath at her belt and then picked up the potion. Stepping forward, she brought the delicate glass vial to his lips.

It didn't taste as terrible as he thought it would. No worse than any other tonic or tincture he'd had over the years, and better than some. The lukewarm liquid curled down his throat and pooled in his belly, and was he just imagining things or did it feel like it was getting warmer? Heat seemed to radiate through his limbs, and a few seconds later he realized he was soaked in sweat. He didn't have time to concentrate on that, though, because a few seconds later his head was pounding and his vision went blurry. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but he was too drowsy, barely able to keep his eyelids open. He struggled, trying to stay awake, but it was no use: he was being sucked down into sleep, where only darkness waited, amid the ghostly echo of a laugh.

\--/--

When he woke, the first thing he noticed was that his hands were no longer bound-- in fact, he wasn't tied at all.

This fortune was entirely too good to be trusted.

He tried to look around, but the room was pitch-black. After a few minutes, he heard crickets chirping faintly outside. Definitely nighttime, then. Cautiously, he stood, taking the time to stretch and shake out joints stiff and still mostly asleep from being tied for who knew how long. As he stretched his fingers brushed the walls. They were stone, rough-cut and cool from the night air. A cellar, maybe? That would explain the lack of light. Keeping one hand on the wall, he paced the room, trying to get an idea of its size. He counted twice, partly to make sure and partly because there wasn't much else to do.

The cellar was about eight steps long and five steps wide; really not very big at all. Enough to hold day to day supplies (or one prisoner) but not enough for a full winter's worth of food. Did that mean he was in the southern half of the kingdom, where the winters weren't as cold? Or was he just grasping at straws?

As he pondered this, his hand drifted, and his fingertips brushed against something  _hot_ . Yelping, he stumbled away, shaking his scorched fingers. When he'd gotten his bearings back, he carefully ran his hand along the wall, inching upward, investigating. 

Just about eye level, his fingers found a change between stone and metal, and exploring further, a wooden stick.

A torch. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could hear it; faint crackles in the air as the flame danced and guttered.

Making his way back to the far wall, he leaned against it, eyes closing. No wonder she'd taken the bindings off.

It wasn't just that the cellar was dark, or that night had fallen.

He was blind.

 


	3. Flight

He wanted to kick himself. What had he been  _thinking_ ? An evil ghost had dragged him out here to torture him, and he'd just gone along and let her poison him. A knife wound-- wounds-- he could have healed from-- well, probably-- but blindness? How was he going to fix  _that?_

_Then again_ , a part of his mind whispered,  _the nobles wouldn't have anything to fear from a_ blind _thief_ .

But his life at court-- difficult before-- would get ten times harder than it was already. He knew they whispered about him behind his back, hid their scorn and sneers behind layers of courtesy he was still learning to decipher. How much worse would it be if they didn't even have to bother hiding the contempt on their faces? He didn't even want to think about navigating around the castle, which was a hopeless labyrinth to begin with.

He buried his face in his hands. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, scrabbling around like some furry creature, scratching at his nerves with tiny sharp claws. He wanted to sit here and shake and freak out and possibly cry.

But the silence of the room was too heavy, like it was listening, and Flynn remembered how Gothel had stepped from nowhere into  _here_ like stepping from one room to another. 

She was a ghost. She could be anywhere. She could be next to him and he'd never know unless she wanted him to.

His breath caught in his throat just thinking about it, which was probably the idea. How the hell was he going to be able to sleep, knowing she could be sitting there watching him? How could he even attempt an escape if he had no idea where she might be or when she might be waiting?

No wonder she'd taken away the ropes. This was a worse nightmare than he could have imagined.

And yet-- he was going to have to try. It was hopeless, but he had to at least try. Because his first instinct had always been to run away. Because the only thing that could be worse than being blind was being blind and dependent on the mercy of an angry ghost. Because Rapunzel was surely out looking for him and maybe he would be lucky enough to stumble into her.

Wherever in the kingdom he was, there were probably wolves, bears, and bandits in the woods, and he'd have no way of knowing if he was about to walk off a cliff or not.

All the same, he'd rather fall off a cliff than sit here and wait to find out what Gothel had planned for him.

He stood up. Keeping one hand on the wall, he took a deep breath, trying to quash the panic that was still shivering through him. When he'd managed to keep his hands from shaking too badly, he went around the cell again. This time, he checked the ceiling (smooth stone, confirming this to be some kind of cellar) and the door (locked). The ceiling he couldn't fix. The door, though...

He patted at his belt and with only a little fumbling, found the two pieces of twisted metal he kept there, looped between the leather bands. He generally didn't pick locks in the castle, but it never hurt to be prepared. He was lucky Gothel had overlooked them.

Or she'd left them there on purpose, knowing he would try to escape.

The image of bear traps, or caltrops, or any number of other hazards waiting on the other side of the door made Flynn pause. He leaned his forehead against the wood and took another deep breath. It really didn't matter what was out there. He had to get out. He turned his attention back to the lock.

Fortunately, this was something that was all feel anyway, since most of his time spent picking locks had been in back alleys or the pitch-dark halls of nobility, with their thick carpets and heavy drapes. After only a few minutes there was a soft  _click_ , and Flynn slipped the tools back into his belt and gently pushed the door open. 

It didn't even creak. Now he  _knew_ this was a trap. 

The room beyond was equally cool, the floor under his bare feet dirt instead of stone. He slipped sideways, following the wall, his feet sliding cautiously out and sweeping the floor for any hazards. But the dirt was just dirt. After a full circuit around the room he found nothing more than a few shelves, which meant there was probably a ladder somewhere in the middle of the room.

He eventually found it, after far too much fumbling and more than a few falls. Every time he tripped he cursed silently and tensed, fearing that Gothel would appear at any moment. Well... reveal her presence, more like. She could be there already and he'd have no idea until she decided to say something. Or stab him.

He really hoped she would say something first.

The ladder was made of rough wood that chafed at his already-scraped hands, but he went up it anyway. There was a trap door at the top-- already open. As he hauled himself up onto the floor of the room above, he paused once again, listening frantically for any sound. There was nothing. Even the crickets he'd heard before had quieted. There was the soft rustle of leaves from outside, and that was all.

Feeling his way cautiously around, he thought he must have come up in the kitchen. There was a heavy iron stove that he tripped over and banged his shin on, as well as a low cabinet probably used for preparing meals. There weren't any utensils, but he did find a threadbare broom in a tiny alcove behind the stove. The wood rasped at his hands, but he felt a little more secure, being able to sweep the path in front of him for obstacles.

He made his way from the kitchen into a larger space he thought was the main room. With a bit of concentration, he could more or less remember the layout of things. The front door should be... straight ahead. With the help of the broom handle, he managed to get there without falling again, and sidled out into the night.

And worried more and more where Gothel was.

\--/--

Gothel had been following the thief since his exit from the cellar. She had not, in fact, found the lock picks on his person, but it was a small detail. Had he not found an exit on his own, she would have unlocked the door at some point. Let him have some hope that he might make it away-- his pain would be all the sweeter once his hopes were crushed. Besides, it was entertaining watching him stumble about.

Although, she had to grudgingly admit, he had adapted reasonably quickly to the situation. Hmph. Well, Flynn Rider had always had a reputation as resourceful. It didn't matter. It wouldn't help him here.

She wondered just how far she should let him get. The edge of the trees? Maybe even the first valley? This cottage was quite remote, tucked between towering trees and wide swathes of meadows. Gothel had never been one for cities. Easier to practice her arts in the wilderness, away from prying eyes. There  _was_ plenty of wildlife, although none that dared come too close to her cottage. Perhaps she should call a pack of wolves to harry him. Then she looked up at the trees, draped in heavy vines and thick leaves, and smiled. She had a better idea. Breaking off one of the larger leaves, she crushed it in her hand and began the spell. 

She wove the magic into the forest around her, all the while following just steps behind the thief.

\--/--

He was getting tired, and there was still no sign of- what? He had no idea what he was trying to find. His only thought had been to get  _away_ , with the vague hope that maybe if he got far enough, he would stumble onto a road and from there, to help of some kind. But he'd walked for what felt like hours, and he was still wading through thick, knee-high grasses and the crunchy shells of fallen leaves. Only the broom handle had kept him from walking into the trees themselves, and even then it had been close a few times.

Worse than his physical exhaustion was the nagging anxiety of Gothel and what would happen when she caught up with him. She had to be around  _somewhere_ . Why hadn't she tried to stop him? If this was all a trap, and he knew it probably was, then when would it spring? What was she playing at?

The worries chased themselves around his mind, dragging his concentration with them. He found himself stumbling more often, and all the cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet suddenly seemed to hurt that much more. He needed to rest, but where?

He was probing around the base of a tree with his stick, trying to get an idea of how comfortable (or not) its roots might be, when something brushed against his leg. Startled, he stepped backwards-- and immediately fell as his foot slipped much deeper than he'd expected. At the same time, he felt his ankle twist sharply and he hissed in pain as he crumpled to the ground.

After a few minutes he managed to catch his breath and levered himself gingerly into a sitting position. Slowly he pulled his leg out of the hole-- probably a rabbit run, judging by how deep it was-- trying not to brush it against anything. Teeth gritted, he was probing his ankle gently with his fingers, checking to see if it was broken, when that  _something_ brushed against his other leg. 

He reached out with a hand, searching for whatever it was, when the first vine wrapped around his arm.

"What?" he gasped, but there were already others, wrapping around his torso and legs. One twisted around his injured ankle, and he had to bite back a cry of pain. Within minutes he was thoroughly tied and barely able even to wriggle.

Somewhere above him, Gothel said, "I do hope you enjoyed your outing, thief. It's probably the last one you'll have."

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (AN: When trying to figure out Gothel's magic, I fumbled around for a bit before realizing that an affinity for plants/plant magic worked both with the movie and its magic flower as well as the original story and Gothel's role as both witch and gardener. Thus: evil kudzu.)


	4. Games

It had been two weeks since she realized Eugene was missing, and a week since she'd ridden out to find him, and Rapunzel was beginning to suspect that something wasn't quite right. It wasn't that anything was _wrong_ , exactly. But she couldn't figure out why they seemed to make so little progress.

The guards had been out searching for a full week before she'd finally joined them, and they'd found enough to learn that Eugene must have been taken somewhere in the western half of the kingdom, a steep mountain range with thick forests and rolling valleys. North and east were all thickly populated areas, and no one had seen him there. Further south the land opened up into flat plains and grasslands, making it easy to sight travelers even from a far distance away-- and surely Eugene would be easily spotted. He might have given up his life of crime, but Rapunzel knew he remained slippery as an eel and nimble as a squirrel, deftly dodging boring meetings and spending half his time up on the palace roofs just because he could. She couldn't imagine, even if he'd somehow been kidnapped, that he'd stay with his captors for long. He would escape, and it must just be taking him longer to make his way back.

So why had no one seen him?

As they picked their way up one mountain and down another, carefully winding their way through the steep terrain on horseback, the guards reassured her that it would simply take time. This part of the kingdom was notoriously difficult to travel through, even in the best of weather, and for the last few days it had been raining frequently, turning the roads to mud and making the narrow trails slick with sodden leaves.

But there was something else, too. The guards seemed a little too...cheerful, she supposed, despite the nature of their search. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, and once or twice she caught them glancing at her, a strange expression on their faces. For the first day or so, she'd simply taken it for optimism, thinking that the guards were pleased to have narrowed down the search enough to make finding Eugene possible. Now she wasn't so sure. Days in the saddle had left her with nothing to do but think, and the more she watched the guards, the more uneasy she grew, and she remembered something that had begun a few months earlier.

 

\--/--

 

Eugene had been teaching her about "tells," little signs that people were being deceptive.

"You need to know this stuff, Blondie," he'd said, after their first real trip to the market, where she'd simply paid whatever the sellers asked. "It's not just criminals that are dishonest. There are plenty of people who will try to take advantage of you, even if it's just to sell their goods at a higher price than they're worth."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Life is hard work for most people. Everyone wants it to be easier. And there's nothing that makes things easier than getting something for nothing," _or more thrilling_ , he thought, but he kept that idea to himself.

"So you need to keep an eye on people. Watch how they move, how they act, and most importantly, how they react. Most of the time, the signs are subtle, but they're there. The way someone rubs their hands together. Or licks their lips. Or maybe they just blink too much."

"Do you have a tell?" she'd asked.

He frowned, like he always did when his criminal past came up, and fiddled with an apple, rolling it between his palms. Finally he said quietly, "Most of my life was a lie, Rapunzel. It's hard to pick just one habit out of that as a mark of deception."

She nodded, and didn't ask further, but she mulled the idea over in her mind. And after that, she kept her eyes and ears open, watching. It even became a sort of game when they were out and about, with Rapunzel pointing things out to Eugene and Eugene confirming or explaining, as the case required.

Once he thought she had a decent grasp of basic tells, he had started teaching her Poker.

"How can cards teach me whether or not someone is lying?" she'd wondered at first.

"Rapunzel, this game is all about lying. Not always in a bad way," he reassured her, when she looked upset, "but the key to winning is being able to read people-- and know whether or not the cards they have are the ones they want you to think they have."

 

\--/--

 

Watching the guards, she started more and more to notice the little things, and after puzzling it over (and some consultation with Pascal) she thought she understood what it was that was bothering her. The guards _knew_ something. Something more than they were saying. And every time they reached another dead end, or grilled locals and bandits for information on hidden places only to find another abandoned and mouldering shack, her suspicions grew. They weren't searching for Eugene, they were _wasting_ _time._ Running her around like a horse on a lead rope, distracting her.

 _Why_ ? She couldn't figure it out. The guards didn't like Eugene, and that was probably only to be expected. But they liked _her_ , and _she_ was the one who was supposed to be leading this search. She was their _princess_. Whatever they thought of Eugene, their duty was to help her find him.

Wasn't it?

She needed to know what it was they were keeping from her.

So, at the end of another long, exhausting day of searching, she pulled out the slim bundle of cards from her pack and went over to where the guards were sitting next to the fire.

"You all have worked so hard," she said, and she gave her sweetest smile to the two who had been fidgeting the most, "I thought maybe we could take the time to relax a bit before we go to sleep."

 

\--/--

 

Flynn couldn't remember anymore how long he'd been there; the days were all blurring together in a haze of darkness. He slept, and woke, ate whatever scraps were left next to him, and tried to sleep again. He wasn't sure which was worse; the nightmares and anxieties that haunted him when he slept, or the "games" that happened when he was awake.

He couldn't keep track of those anymore, either.

It had started the first day, after his futile attempt at escape. He'd woken up in what had been the bedroom, although there was no bed. His ankle was painful and swollen. He had no idea how he'd gotten back there-- from the way he ached, the witch had probably dragged him back with those vicious vines. It didn't much matter where he was anyway; with the way his leg throbbed, he wasn't going to be going anywhere.

His first impression had been of dry wood and dirty, mildewed hay beneath him, and the second impression had been of a woman's arms wrapped around him. Someone was stroking his cheek. He'd instinctively relaxed a little-- and then he'd heard Gothel laugh, and he realized just who was holding him.

He'd flinched away so violently he'd hit the back of his head on the wall, and wrenched his ankle again, which had left him gasping, dizzy and disoriented. Somewhere nearby, Gothel was laughing herself sick. When his head stopped spinning he swiped in the direction of her voice, but his fingers hit nothing but air-- if he was even in the right spot.

After that it only got worse.

She never pulled her tricks at the same time on any one day, as far as he could tell, although it was hard for him to properly tell time besides evening (crickets) and early morning (birdsong). She seemed to wait until he relaxed, which half the time was when he managed to sleep. The tricks varied.

Once he'd woken to feel the tip of that dagger playing along his ribs. It never broke the skin, but it didn't need to; he'd ended up soaked in sweat just wondering where, or if, she was going to stab him.

Another time he'd gone to scratch an itch, only to realize that there were dozens of bugs crawling on him, even running through his hair. He'd jumped to his feet, trying to get them off, but he'd forgotten his ankle. It was only through sheer luck that he'd caught the wall and kept himself from crashing to the floor when his leg wouldn't hold his weight. When he relaxed again he realized the bugs had only been an illusion; there was nothing else in the room with him.

Sometimes she would play even crueler tricks; once he could swear he heard horses walking outside, their harness jangling and their riders talking. He tried to shout to them, calling for Rapunzel or Maximus or anyone else, only to find he couldn't make a sound. His voice froze in his throat and he was left gasping no matter how hard he tried. Later his throat was raw as if he'd been shouting for hours; even days afterwards his voice was hoarse and rough. It didn't matter. They might never have been there at all; the sound could have been just as much an illusion as the bugs.

After the first few times he found himself unable to relax at all, jumping and twitching at every small sound, every imagined bug bite. When he slept it was only from exhaustion, and he remained anxious, waking often and never sleeping too deeply.

Then she started appearing in his dreams.

\--/--

 

The wind was howling outside her tent, and thunder rumbled ominously above, but Rapunzel didn't care. Her attention was focused purely on the nervous-looking guard that stood before her.

"What do you mean, _the guards_ took him?" she hissed.

"Look, I- I don't know much about it. I just helped carry him. The captain was the one who gave us the orders. He's the one who took the- the, well..."

"The money. The bribe. Someone _paid_ him to take Eugene. _Who_?"

"I dunno! He didn't say, he just- he just said that Rider would... would..."

"Would what?"

The guard flinched. "... would get what he deserved," he said, guiltily. "It's just- some of the guard were bitter because he got pardoned and..."

"And you helped with this." Rapunzel's voice was flat and hard. He'd never seen the princess look so furious. The cold rage was alien and terrifying on her usually gentle face. She wasn't even shouting, but he'd never been so scared.

"...Yes," he whispered, still cringing.

She looked at him for a long time, utterly silent, utterly still. Then she tossed him his jacket. "Saddle up. We're going for a ride."

"I- the lieutenant will want to know why I-"

"Make whatever excuse you need to. I don't care. We're leaving, and we're leaving now. You're going to take me to wherever you brought Eugene."

 


	5. Rescue

Thunder was rumbling overhead, disorienting him. He'd started to get used to relying on sound, but the thunder drowned out everything, and the heaviness of the air twisted things around even more. Even so, he'd thought he had heard someone calling... Rapunzel?

He sat up, trying to listen between cracks of thunder. He might just have been dreaming. Or hallucinating. He'd been having those more and more lately. Probably from lack of sleep-- it seemed he could hardly get any rest now. Gothel was always doing something; playing more of her games, whether he was asleep or awake.

This might be just another one of her tricks.

Still, he couldn't help but lean forward as he caught another fragment of sound. It definitely sounded like horses. It was a miracle anyone was out in this weather. The thunder was far enough apart that he knew the storm was still some distance away, but from the sound the wind was making the storm was going to be bad when it hit.

Travelers, maybe? Lost, and looking for shelter? He'd take any rescue he could find.

Or maybe... just maybe... she'd found him after all.

 _Rapunzel._ He missed her terribly. Her laughter, her constant smile. He was even starting to miss Pascal and the little chameleon's slimy tongue.

 _Now I know I'm desperate, wishing for the frog._ Even so. He waited, listening for more signs. A burst of thunder rolled across the mountains, and then another, _KRAKOOOOOM!_ It was so loud he swore he felt the floor vibrate. But when it was over-- hoofbeats! And the sound of voices.

He almost didn't speak, remembering the time Gothel had stolen his voice. But he had to _know_. He had to try. If he let the fear of Gothel stop him from doing anything, he'd go mad. And Gothel would win.

"Rapunzel?" he called, tentatively. Then, louder, he shouted, "Rapunzel! Anyone? Hey!"

There was a muttering of voices, hushed, and then, "Flynn?!"

It was definitely Rapunzel's voice. _Finally. Finally. I might actually make it out of here after all._

"Rapunzel!" he called. "I'm in the house! Over here!"

More sounds-- a crashing, covered by thunder, and then what sounded like someone stumbling into furniture. "Where are you?"

"The bedroom! I think! Over here!"

More shuffling, and then the _creak_ of the door. Then hushed footsteps that whispered along the rotting wood. The room flooded with the smell of damp wool and leather polish. "Rapunzel?" he asked, reaching a hand out into the darkness.

"I'm here!" she said, and tumbled into his arms.

That's when he knew it was wrong.

A wave of cold washed over him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, instead of the comforting warmth he might have expected. The fabric brushing against his arms felt not quite right, somehow, not entirely solid. _Flynn. She called me Flynn. She never calls me that._ "Rapunzel...?" he asked, as he started to back away.

But the wall was at his back; there was nowhere to go. And when she spoke again it was Gothel's voice after all. "I'm afraid not, thief," she purred, and then there was the cold line of a knife against his skin. "Now, do try to hold still, or this will hurt even more than I intend it to."

 

\--/--

 

The morning sun woke him, after. The storm had been vicious after all, the wind howling and the thunder crashing around the little house, with Gothel's maddening laughter woven through all of it. She must have gotten bored just playing with his mind, because that damned dagger had been brought out instead.

Groaning quietly, he levered himself up on one arm, cradling the other carefully to his side. When he was more or less in a sitting position (mostly a leaning one, but that was enough for now) he flexed the wounded arm gently. Pain crackled up and down his arm, and he hissed slowly. There were probably two dozen smaller cuts along his arm and side, but the worst was his shoulder, where she'd stabbed him clean through.

 _What is it with her and stabbing, anyway?_ It was a completely inappropriate, flippant thought, and Flynn was grateful for it. His first response to trouble had always been to make light of it, but that was getting ever more difficult to do. Gothel's games were getting even crueler, and clearly she no longer felt the need to confine the torment to his mind. Sooner or later, one of her tricks would kill him.

He swallowed hard at the thought.

There was little he could do, though. Exhausted from weeks with little sleep and wounded besides, he doubted he could do much against Gothel at this point even if he'd been able to see. Which, of course, was an entirely different problem.

Despair was creeping up on him, prowling around him like a hungry predator, just waiting for the right time to strike. Flynn had never been one to give up easily, but he could feel his resolution wearing away, day by day. It was getting harder and harder to believe that rescue would come. Who knew how long it had taken Rapunzel to realize he was missing? If the guards had been part of the betrayal, they could easily have lied, made up some excuse to explain his absence. For all he knew she believed him off on some trip, having adventures at a country estate.

No. He had to believe she was looking for him. He had to. If he could cling onto that thought, he could get through another day. Just one more day, and then another day after that.

She would come. She had to.

Because if she didn't...

 


	6. Tells

It was late afternoon, two days after the poker game, that they found the little cottage.

Even to Rapunzel's inexperienced eye the place was badly in need of repair; the thatch was moldy and rotted where it hadn't fallen away entirely, and the paint was cracked and peeling, revealing weathered wood beneath.

"You're sure this is the place?" she asked the guard, who nodded nervously. She was finding that to be his usual reaction to anything. He had quivered all night while the storm raged, trembling at each roll of thunder or flash of lightning. Rapunzel had slept little herself, but not from fear. She was frustrated that they had to stop at all-- she should be out there, finding Eugene. But even she knew that they wouldn't get anywhere in a storm that strong, and trying to force the matter would only injure the horses and slow them further.

She'd been up early the next morning, packing up camp and saddling the horses as soon as she'd finished breakfast. The guard followed meekly along. She didn't even have to try to boss him around-- he did whatever he was told. No wonder he hadn't argued when the Captain took Eugene.

She was still angry about that, but now wasn't the time. If the guard was right, Eugene was in there. She could deal with the others once he was safe.

The problem was, how to get him? The guard had no idea who it was that had taken Eugene, and if they'd held him this long, they must be no small threat. She had a frying pan with her, of course, and she had a long chain that she had been practicing with-- not as versatile as her hair had been, but still pretty useful. But neither of those things would help her if there more than a few people inside.

Which meant her best weapon was stealth.

So she left the guard with the horses, about a quarter mile away from the little house, and snuck up close on her own, approaching from the side of the house where there weren't as many windows. She paused under the window for a minute and Pascal climbed up, shifting to a dull grey-brown to blend in with the battered wood. A few seconds later he dropped back down, nodding to her that it was safe and making the little gesture that meant _Eugene_.

He really was here. Trusting Pascal's assessment, Rapunzel reached up for the sill and vaulted inside.

 

\--/--

 

The room was dim, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but the room was also mostly empty, so he was easy enough to spot.

Eugene was slumped against the far wall, apparently asleep. Still keeping an eye out for any guards, she moved to get a closer look, and was dismayed at what she saw. He was thin and dirty, and there were any number of cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet-- which, she noted, were bare. His ankle was swollen and red, and one arm of his shirt was brown with dried blood.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking him gently. She could tell when he woke up, because he flinched. "Wh- what?" he mumbled, blinking awake. His eyes were vague and unfocused, but she ignored that.

"Eugene!" she whispered, and wrapped him in a hug. She could feel the startled shock run through him. "Eugene! I was so worried, what _happened_ to you?"

"...Rapunzel?" he whispered, and the hesitation in his voice was heartbreaking. "Is it actually you?"

"Of course! Eugene, I've been looking for you for weeks! Pascal, too! Are you all right?"

"Pascal is here?" he asked, and there was still that strange tone in his voice. In answer, the little chameleon skittered down Rapunzel's arms and up onto Flynn's shoulder, nuzzling at his neck in greeting. For once the chameleon didn't flick his tongue in Flynn's ear. Flynn blinked, surprised, and after a few seconds he last he seemed to relax a little. "I'm all right, Rapunzel-- or I will be. But we need to get out of here."

"Why? What's going on? Eugene, who captured you?"

He shivered. "Later, I promise. Let's just-"

"You want to know who captured him?" another voice interrupted. "I did."

Rapunzel froze, unable to believe for a moment what her ears were telling her. Then she turned-- and faced Mother Gothel, whose ghostly form was shimmering, semi-solid, in the doorway of the room.

 _"Gothel_ ," Rapunzel hissed, and the word was sharp as a blow. Behind her, Pascal flushed a brilliant red. "You're dead. _We killed you_. What-"

"Yes, yes. I'm a ghost, as you can plainly see. But I've already had this conversation with your thief. I'm sure you can ask him for all the details."

"What have you been doing to him?"

The ghost smiled. "Only what he deserves," she purred. "Punishment for the crime of stealing you away from me."

All her worry and frustration of the last few weeks came rushing back, and suddenly Rapunzel was so furious she could have slapped Gothel, if only she'd been solid. She didn't know who else might be here, and she didn't care."He didn't _steal_ me away from anywhere! I _made him guide me!”_ She'd had to hit him upside the head half a dozen times with a frying pan, even. “I ran away, _Mother_. He didn't do anything but help me do something I'd wanted to do for years. If we're going to talk about _thieves_ , why don't we talk about you?"

"I was _protecting_ you!" Gothel hissed back.

"Like hell you were. You just didn't want anyone else to use me. Not even me-- my magic! All those times you called me _Flower_. You didn't even use my name. I was never a person to you, not really."

Gothel's face darkened. "You think I didn't care? I tended you as carefully as any gardener. I brought you food, paints, supplies for _all_ your hobbies. Everything you ever wanted. And all I ever asked in return was that you stay with me. Was it so hard?"

Rapunzel shook her head slowly. "I listened to you for _so long_. I believed all your stories. But I'm done now. It's over. Gothel, you are _dead_. Move _on_."

She stepped over to Eugene and carefully helped him stand. He braced one hand on the wall for support, and she carefully wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Then she turned back to Gothel. "I am taking Eugene, and we are _leaving._ "

"You think it will be so easy?" Gothel said, and her voice was full of menace. She stepped away from the door frame, and suddenly there was a blade glinting in her hand. "You think you can just walk away from here? That I will just let you leave? Even if you did get away, where do you think you will go? I'm a ghost. No wall can stop me. No blade will cut me. Wherever you go, I will haunt you."

"It doesn't matter. I won't be afraid of you anymore _._ " She stepped to the side, placing herself between Gothel and Flynn. "And I won't let you hurt Eugene."

Gothel snarled something, and lashed out with the dagger.

Quick as a snake, Rapunzel snapped her arm out to stop it. The blade sliced into her skin, but she didn't care. She gripped the blade tighter and flicked her wrist, wrenching it out of Gothel's grip. The ghost was so startled she actually took a step back. Rapunzel tossed the blade down derisively and stepped on it. Blood was streaming down her hand, but she found she didn't care much. She was determined-- no one was getting past her. She was done being lied to and tricked. If she hadn't fallen for the guards' lies, if she'd paid _attention_ , she could have been here a week ago.

This problem she would solve _herself_.

Gothel, for her part, stepped back, more than a little shocked by what she saw. Her Flower had always been such a delicate creature-- where had this steel come from? She was so fierce, standing there. Even in the dim light of the dusty room, she seemed to glow from within, so like the flower Gothel had found all those centuries before.

And Gothel wondered: what if that power was still within her? The flower's magic had given her centuries of youth. It might be enough to restore even a ghost to life—or at least a more corporeal form.

Snarling, Gothel lunged at Rapunzel, raking at her face with ragged fingernails. This time, Rapunzel caught her by the wrist. The ghost shrieked in pain, and both of them looked down. All around the wound, wherever the blood met Gothel's skin, golden light was flickering, glowing fiercely. Rapunzel's blood was burning her, eating away at the ghostly flesh.

"How...?" Gothel hissed, trying to wrench herself away, but Rapunzel's grip was strong.

Rapunzel looked at her sadly. "You give yourself away, Gothel. My whole life, you hid yourself behind youth and magic and power, a lie in every compliment and greed in every kindness. I couldn't see it before, because no one had ever shown me. But I see you _now_ , Gothel. All you are is one big lie, and every move you make is a tell. I see right through you, and you are _finished_."

And she held on tightly as the burning golden light began to spread.

 

 


	7. Epilogue

A few minutes later, the room was silent. The ghost of Gothel was gone. Rapunzel sighed and leaned back, suddenly exhausted.

Next to her, Eugene was frowning, still leaning on the wall. "Rapunzel. This might be a stupid question. But... what just happened?"

Rapunzel shook her head. "I don't even know! She's gone, though. I'm sure of that." She rubbed her temples. "Maybe she's actually moved on. I can't believe anyone would be so _stubborn_."

"Oh, I don't know. I seem to recall being pretty stubborn myself," Eugene said, reaching out for her. His hand brushed her shoulder and she wrapped it in her own.

"Eugene, what did she do to you? What _happened_? How did you end up here?"

He winced. "It's a long story. Apparently Gothel had accomplices in the castle-- not really a comforting thought."

"I know. The guards..." she murmured, then returned to the topic at hand. "But what happened to _you_? You look terrible."

He shrugged, trying to make light of things. "Well, the ankle might have been my own fault. Or a rabbit's. But..." he sighed. "Rapunzel, I can't see."

Suddenly his vacant expression made sense. "Oh, _Eugene_ ," she whispered, reaching up to brush the hair from his face. Her fingers left a trail of blood on his forehead.

"What is that- Rapunzel, are you _bleeding?_ "

"Mm," she said absently. "I might have grabbed a dagger."

"What were you doing that for? How many times have I told you about blade safety?"

"Well, she was going after you."

"I suppose I can forgive that, then. Still, you should wrap that up.”

"Don't start! You're much worse than- _oh_." Her eyes widened as she suddenly realized just what Gothel's demise had meant. It had been her blood that had done it. The magic of the sun... she'd never really thought about it before. But it was _her_. Not just her hair, or her tears... _her._ That was the answer.

"What? What's going on?"

"Hold on just a second. Close your eyes."

For a moment it looked like he might argue, and then he closed his eyes. Carefully she dabbed a little bit of blood on each of his eyelids.

His eyebrows shot up. "Blondie, tell me you're not dabbing _blood_ on my _eyes_."

"Just trust me. Okay, open your eyes."

"Rapunzel, this isn't going to-" and then he stopped, because something _was_ different. Instead of darkness, he was surrounded by pale greys, and as he blinked, the greys became lighter, solidifying into colors, objects, _light_. And in front of him was Rapunzel, Pascal on her shoulder.

He could _see_.

"Oh my God. Rapunzel." And he wrapped her in a fierce hug, completely ignoring the pain in his shoulder. A few seconds later he had to break the hold, as he staggered and almost fell.

"Eugene!" she cried, grabbing at his arm to steady him. Carefully, she guided him to the ground and started probing at his wounds. Her frown deepened the further along she went. When she was done she sat back on her heels, fury written across her face.

“I’d kill her again, if I could.”

Flynn winced. “Once was more than enough.” He reached for her hand. “Rapunzel, it’s okay. I’ll heal. I can _see_ again, and that’s more than I was hoping for. It’ll be okay.”

She smiled, running the fingers of her bloody hand along his injured arm. He blinked as the cuts began to fade. “Yes. It will.”

He watched in horrified fascination as she wiped her bloody fingers along his wounds, and they slowly scabbed over and disappeared. “You know, I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this,” he said faintly. “That is _weird_.”

“Well, I don’t plan on making a habit of it,” she said. “But just this once...”

When it was done, he wrapped her in another fierce hug, his arms shaking. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Eugene, it really wasn’t that big a deal,” she said, confused.

“Not for fixing me up,” he said. “For being here. For finding me.”

“Of course I found you!” She eased out of his grip, looking him in the eye. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” she asked, hurt.

“No,” he said, and swallowed thickly, the fear and despair he’d bottled up for weeks finally coming out, catching in his throat. “I- I knew you would try. I just thought...” he swallowed again. He hated to admit weakness like this, but he trusted Rapunzel more than anyone. “I just-- I thought-- I might be—that you might not make it in time,” he finished.

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Eugene,” she said seriously. “What _happened_? What did she do?”

He shuddered, then shook his head. “I can’t talk about it. Not- not yet.”

She watched him a moment more, than kissed him gently on the forehead. “Okay,” she said softly. “But when you’re ready, you know I’ll listen.”

He nodded.

After a few minutes he recovered himself sufficiently to return to his more characteristic banter. “How did you find me, anyway?” he asked. There was still a slight catch in his voice that betrayed the lightness of his tone, but Rapunzel ignored it.

She smiled faintly. “That’s a long story, too,” she said, brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “But I couldn’t have done it without the things you taught me.”

“The tells?” he asked. “I thought I heard you say something about that.”

She nodded. “And the poker. I got the guards to play with me one night when we set up camp... and then I basically bullied the one who seemed the most nervous into telling me what he knew.”

Flynn's lips twitched into a crooked smile. “You? Bully someone? I don't believe it for a minute.”

She laughed softly, but it faded quickly. “I didn't believe it myself. But-- I was just so _angry_ , Eugene. They lied to me for _weeks_ , running me around in circles, and I couldn't _find_ you.” She wrapped her arms around him again, hugging fiercely. “I was- I was terrifed, that I wouldn't get here in time. And- And I almost wasn't.”  
  
“Hey, hey. Rapunzel,” Flynn said, smiling down at her. “First rule of thievery: what _might_ _have been_ doesn't matter, okay? What happened is what matters. However it happened, you found me. You're fine, I'm fine, and- and Gothel is never gonna bother us again. Let's-- let's just enjoy that, okay? And you can have a stern talk with the guards on our way home. Yeah?”  
  
She smiled. “Yeah. I guess.”

He smiled back, and kissed her. “Let's go home.”

 


End file.
